Wednesday, 26 September 2012

UK Top Secret

As The Tunguska Event is the least visited place on the Internet, I have opened its pages for the storage of the UK's most secret papers from the last 100 years.




The Queen Memorandum

Dear Associates of the Executive Council,

As you are aware Queen Elizabeth II retired in 1990. Unfortunately we, of the council, couldn't allow her to abdicate in favour of her successor as Prince Charles is clearly away with the fairies.

Since 1990 her role has been taken by a number of fine actors and actresses. This has both strengthened the monarchy and reduced the number of exciting re-interpretations of the works of William Shakespeare we'd have otherwise endured. Allowing foreign actors and actresses to play the role during leap years has really kicked it into a higher gear.

There have been many notable turns as the monarch and some minor gaffs:

  • Sir Patrick Stewart, who tapped a man on each shoulder with a sword and then spoke the words he will always remember - Engage. Warp 6.

  • Samuel L Jackson who told Prince Harry he was too old to be trained as a Jedi.

  • Scarlett Johansson could have made the role her own, if it were not for a double back flip during a royal premier. We attempted to cover this by releasing a story about the issues with extra powerful springs in replacement knee joints.

  • Julie Andrews was simply terrifying during a Royal visit to an umbrella factory. You will have seen the videos. We don't want a repeat.


The weekly meeting between the monarch and the Prime Minister has been unaffected, most PMs having attended public schools like Eton and Harrow and having their heads shoved so far up their posh arses as to be unable to notice. Even Charlton Heston's turn as the Queen wasn't spotted despite leaping onto a palace drawing room chair and yelling "Every man should have the right to carry a gun."

There have been instances where an actor as suitable as those referred to above could not be found. For example, during much of a diamond jubilee a slightly pissed-off looking mannequin was used. Notably for the river Thames trip.

None of the Royal Family have been aware of the substitution of the Queen by an actor. Centuries of in-breeding certainly have advantages, but intelligence and observational skills are not amongst these. Maybe if the extreme wet weather continues the webbed feet will be of value after all.

Please reply with suggestions of actors and actresses we can approach. Anyone who suggests John Barrowman will be unlikely to be heard of again.

Sunday, 5 August 2012

The Final Part

Our heroes have been fed, followed a trail of notes requesting help, driven by bus, flown in a stunning replica of the Starship Enterprise, shot, killed, resurrected by the bus driver, who turned out to be Death and finally reached the source of the notes where a fate worse than, er, Death awaited them.



The seventh part of the trilogy:

Skimming time like a stone on a pond

It's turned out weird again

Trail of Crumbs

An unfortunate bullet in the head

Death And Taxes

The Light at the End of the Tunnel






The orderly walked down the corridor. He paused at each of three doors opening the flap and looking into the room. "Poor souls," he muttered, "Hallucinating for weeks. The tall one keeps muttering about wresting a laser from a shark, cutting open the door and escaping."

His supervisor arrived just as he closed the last flap. "I've heard him. Sharks with lasers. Pah! Found on the pavement outside the Euthanasia Curry House in 1979."

"Curry too strong for them?"

"No, apparently it was the after dinner coffee. Eolistblend prepared the Turkish way. Not recommended by the World Health Organisation and banned under the Geneva Convention."

The supervisor lifted the first flap, "Bloody hell, we're going to get crucified for this!"

"What!!"

"This one has gone! Check the others."


In 1979, a cracked trio was sent to the loony bin by a psychiatrist for windows they didn't lick. These men (and a woman) promptly escaped from a maximum security mental hospital to the Slobering-under-the-Bed underground. Today, still wanted by hardly anyone, they survive as crazies for rent.

If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire... The Caffeine-Team.

Thursday, 2 August 2012

The Light at the End of the Tunnel



The sixth part of the trilogy:

Skimming time like a stone on a pond

It's turned out weird again

Trail of Crumbs

An unfortunate bullet in the head

Death And Taxes



"The next note is in the cave, Death said," said Eolist.

"Well, this is the only cave I can see," I said.

"Why does it have to be halfway up a mountain, and in the baking heat," complained Roth. He was hungry and hunger always makes him tetchy. We had last eaten in 1979.

We climbed the rock strewn slope. Every time we reached a point where we thought the next rise would lead to the cave, we would get there only to be disappointed. The bullet hole in my forehead was still bleeding and painful. You'd have thought when Death resurrected us from the dead he'd have attended to minor details like this.

"Anyone got an aspirin? I've got a really sore head," asked Eolist.

"Get down!" Roth hissed. We ducked behind an outcrop of rocks that was next on our list to scrabble over. In the distance three horses and riders were galloping towards the cave. They stopped and one of the riders looked straight at us. He turned back and the three of them continued.

"Did you notice anything odd about them, because they really gave me the willies?" I asked.

Roth thought for a moment and said, "No shadows. It's blazing hot, brilliant sunshine and they had no shadows."

We decided to approach the cave more slowly, moving from rock outcrop to stone cairn to laying flat on the hot rocks. Whatever we did, we didn't want to be seen.

The sun was setting before we arrived at the cave. Dusk was an advantage we hadn't planned for, but were grateful for nonetheless. The mouth of the cave was not at all as expected, being made of metal rather than the more traditional stone. I picked up a small rock in entrance and turned it over. Underneath it said made in china. We looked around. There was no one there and thankfully no sign of the three horsemen. We walked further into the cave taking care to keep to places where we could hide easily. The entrance was now hidden from us but there was enough light to see, although from where it came we couldn't make out.

We sat down on a "rocky" outcrop, although it felt chilly and metallic probably because it was cold and made of metal.

"What do you think this place is?" I asked.

"And where's the note?" Eolist added.

"Do you think they have a vending machine?" Muttered Roth under his breath.

Before Roth finished his sentence the wall of the cave slid open and blinding lights shone down upon us. We were in a huge control room with a giant boardroom table and chairs. On the opposite wall, framed like a huge picture, was glass window onto an aquarium. A giant shark swam up to the glass before being bitten in half and gobbled up by something much scarier with tentacles.

A voice boomed out, "Ah, Mr Roth, we have been expecting you!"

The figure standing on the gantry was black, oriental and immaculately dressed.

"Who's that?" I hissed at Indigo.

"That is Dr Wang. He's probably trying to take over the world. Again."

"Seize them," shouted Dr Wang.

The three horsemen we saw earlier appeared out of the shadows.

"Who are you?"

"We're the three horsemen of the apocalypse," a dark reverberant voice said, "For I am War." He bowed slightly. "This is Famine," he gestured to the very thin horseman to his left. "And this," he paused, "is The Other One."

"Dammit, I'm Pestilence. Do I need to wear a name-badge?" he wheezed.

"It would help," War agreed. The Other One shot him a daggared look.

"I thought there were FOUR horsemen. Where is Death?" I asked.

"He is no longer a horseman. He drives buses. We were supposed to be the four horsemen of the apocalypse: Death, War, Famine and The Other One."

"Pestilence," The Other One interjected.

"Whatever!" War continued. "We were meant to be the four horsemen of the apocalypse, not the three horsemen and the one bus driver of the apocalypse. Besides he gets all the limelight, for instance I hear he has appeared in The Tunguska Event, whatever that is, no less than five times. Am I not photogenic enough?"

The three horsemen grabbed us and hauled us off to a musty and damp prison cell. Actually "hauled" was overstating it, they were really quite gentle and just cajoled us in the right direction. Roth muttered something about "having a word with Dr Wang about his henchmen training."

"I was rather expecting a note. Not Dr Wang and three supernatural jockeys from the Bible," Eolist complained. She had a point.

"He could have killed us. Did you see the automatic machine gun emplacements? It was like something out of Aliens," I said.

"It's not Dr Wang's style. He likes nice elaborate death settings. Something slow, painful, humiliating and basically anything I can escape from. He's a gentleman genocidal manic, with impeccable manners," Roth filled us in on this aspect of his former life. Normally all he talks about are the fast cars and the expense account.

We sat in the cell for hours before the two of the three horsemen came back. The cold and the damp was quite pleasant after the long dry climb up to the cave.

"We've been told to take you to the dining room. Dr Wang would like a word over dinner," said War.

"Hang on, you're War, he's The Other One, so where is Famine?" I asked.

"Pestilence," hissed the other horsemen and was promptly ignored.

"Famine is cooking dinner. He's quite the Gordon Ramsey when he has the chance you know," War replied, "Loves Hell's Kitchen."

As we stepped out of the gloom War looked us up and down. We were still wearing the uniforms from the Enterprise, but the knees of our trousers were worn through, there was blood from our gunshot wounds and we looked a mess. "I better take you somewhere to get cleaned up."

We arrived at dinner, showered and very well turned out. Roth and I had Saville Row suits and Eolist was wearing a black designer number.

"Ever felt he might have had this planned? This suit is a perfect fit," I said.

"Dr Wang is like that. Never play battleships or noughts and crosses against him. His anticipation and forethought is legendary," Roth replied.

"So, Mr Roth, how did you deal with my three trigger happy henchmen down below?" asked Dr Wang, "I was most annoyed to hear they had shot you dead."

"We got a little surprise help from Death. He decided to bring us back to life and dispatch your henchmen. Not that we knew they were yours, of course," Roth explained. "We were puzzled as to why Death was involved."

"I needed some unusual assistance, and I found this lovely little vein of rivalry amongst the four horsemen. The three who are here, War, Famine and The Other One are really fed up with Death. It seems they hate him getting all the big speaking parts and roles in adventures whilst they are the also-rans. Also they seem to really resent his driving of a London Bus instead of the riding a horse."

"War could make a good living as a voice over artist," I interjected.

Dr Wang ignored me and continued the explanation, "Between us we concocted this idea that there was someone in trouble, who needed rescuing, and they were leaving a trail of notes. I knew Indigo Roth would find that irresistible, especially if the someone, possibly, was female. Death was lead to believe that the rescue was essential and that whilst Roth might die it must go on. I needed to get the 'Roth might die' bit in so as I can kill him at my base in a fiendishly clever manner."

"So that's why he saved us when we were all killed," said Eolist.

"Indeed. The other three horsemen will be delighted to make Death feel like an ass."

We ate in relative silence. Famine could have been a Michelin stared chef in another life.

At the end of the meal, Dr Wang got his supernatural henchmen to take us to a room. It looked like the bottom of a missile silo. In the middle was a shaft in the ground which we were taken over to inspect. At the bottom of the shaft was molten lava. It was rising gently. When we looked up there were the rocket exhausts of a missile. One of the walls of the silo was glass.

Dr Wang explained, "You three will be tied to these metal poles. The lava will rise in the shaft until it covers the floor and cracks the glass, whereupon a shark will break out with millions of gallons of water. The shark has a laser on its head. The laser will ignite the rocket exhausts."


"Dr Wang, you fiend!" Roth exclaimed, with cool English composure.

Eolist and I remained quiet as the three of us were tied to the metal poles. It didn't seem fair.

"Dr Wang, this doesn't seem fair. Your beef is with Roth here, not us. Let us go," said Eolist.

"My dear woman, there are three poles and the apparatus needs a little testing do you not think?"

"What do you expect from us?" I asked.

"Dr Tunguska, I expect you to die!" replied Dr Wang. He paused and made some corrections in his notebook, shaking his head slightly.

He left the room, locking the hatch and leaving us to our fate. The lava rose, the shark butted the glass and the rocket exhausts loomed over us threateningly. Soon the lava flowed over the rim and edged towards our feet.

Are our heroes doomed? Again?

Monday, 9 July 2012

Scratch & Sniff

You may have wondered what your favourite characters smell like. Well, due to the power of technology I bring you the scratch and sniff guide to The Tunguska Event.

Scratch and sniff below to get the authentic smell of Max Tunguska:


Now try the fine aroma of Eolist Petite:


Then the heady wiff of Indigo Roth:


And finally for the brave, the Squiddrel:


Unfortunately the technology required to make this work isn't available in your century. I recommend you move forward to the next century or attempt to scratch and sniff Max Tunguska, Eolist Petite, Indigo Roth and the Squiddrel personally.

Actually, forget about scratching and sniffing the Squiddrel. He might not like it much. And then you wouldn't like it much.

Monday, 2 July 2012

What's on your Mantelpiece?

An intense study of the lives of people in Britain called Mass Observation was started 75 years ago. One of the questions in this study was "What's on your Mantelpiece?"

So I thought I would start the study again but with popular* contemporary bloggers.

Dr Max Tunguska has, working from left to right, on his mantelpiece over a fine open log fire, the following:
  • A jar of nitroglycerin.

  • A human brain in a jar covered in formaldehyde with some wires sticking out of it. The label has Max Tunguska scribbled out and Vacant Possession written in underneath.

  • Some green glowing rocks sitting on a wooden plaque with a brass engraved plate showing the wording Essential Power-source from Atlantis.

  • Discharge paperwork from the mental asylum (forged).

  • One dead bonsai tree.

  • Two small reel-to-reel tapes left here by Jericho Roth.

  • A cup of coffee.

  • Eolist sitting swinging her feet.



If any other bloggers would like to document their mantelpieces, be my guest.

* Starting with The Tunguska Event is stretching popular to breaking point, so bite me.

The original BBC article can be found here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/today/hi/today/newsid_9733000/9733887.stm

Sunday, 17 June 2012

Death and Taxes

The story so far,

Following a trail of notes asking for help has lead our three heroes to a small red planet where they have been unexpectedly shot dead.



The fifth part of the trilogy:

Skimming time like a stone on a pond

It's turned out weird again

Trail of Crumbs

An unfortunate bullet in the head



"You useless, slow witted, pompous, stupid Englishmen," the thin, ethereal, yet strangely resonant voice began, "Have you got you heads stuck up your respective bottoms?"

"I'm American. And a woman."

"THEN YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER." The voice cut her off dismissively.

"We're alive?!" I said, looking down at myself and feeling my head.

"Of course you're not alive, you bloody half-wit. You were shot in the head. Right through your brain. You are dead as a dodo."

"I'm alive. I was sure I was a gonna there," said Roth, now suddenly standing next to me.

"I'm not going through all this again, look over there." A single skeletal finger pointed from under his black cape to an untidy pile on the ground.

"I'm dead and that's my body over there?"

"There is some hope for you, the tall one who smells faintly of pepperoni catches on fast. Yes, you are all dead. Those are your bodies."

"Why is the outer casing of a ball point pen sticking out of the bullet hole in my head?" asked Roth.

This was quite a lot to take in. The three of us stood facing the black caped skeletal figure holding a scythe. He was deep in thought.


Eventually he spoke, "I expected one of you to get shot and killed, hence my warning on the bus where I told you one of you would not be returning. I didn't expect the other two to stand around in the open arguing until they got shot too."

He paused and thought some more, "Your mission is too important, you must go on and help the writer of the notes."

"You are here to reap our souls?" I asked.

"I am the Grim Reaper, the personification of Death. I live with three other guys who also like horses. Of course I'm here to collect your souls."

"But I didn't eat the salmon mousse," said Roth.

"I hear this three or four times a day since that sodding Monty Python sketch. It is wearing really thin." He pointed a bony finger at Roth, "I would suggest you shut up."

He thought some more. "I have three souls to collect. You need to continue with your mission. So I think I have a solution. Look over there."

In the distance our murderers had broken cover and were walking over to where we lay. Clearly they couldn't see us or the Slightly Peeved Reaper. There were three of them and they were dressed like scrawny versions of John Rambo. They suddenly froze in mid-step.

"I'm going to collect their souls, pop yours back in your bodies, and fudge the paperwork. If I switch the mental records I shouldn't get found out." As he spoke, six folders appeared on the ground, three really fat ones and three slim ones. He picked up the three slim folders and flicked through them, "Fairly straightforward murderers." He picked up the three thick folders and read through them, "Wow, you guys have mental problems I've never seen before. And the pages are all out of chronological order. I think some of the time stamps are wrong too. That page is marked with the date Atlantis sank."

Eolist coughed and Indigo Roth looked down and shuffled.

Death waved a bony hand, the folders switched contents and vanished. "Stay here and don't move."

He walked over to the three murderers. Our murderers. They unfroze and fell to the ground. From their bodies we could see their souls drift out and upwards. A slight wind blew our way so we could just catch the conversation.

"But I didn't eat the salmon mousse," protested the first murderer.

The Slightly Peeved Reaper swung his scythe and the three souls vanished.

He stomped back.

"Right you three, I don't do this very often, so hold on."

"Will it hurt?" Eolist asked.

"I don't believe I shall feel a thing. But you'll be in agony. For hours."

I woke up. It was dark, my mouth was full of dirt and the throbbing in my head was unspeakable. I realised after a few seconds I had fallen on my face and slowly lifted myself up. Eolist and Roth were sitting on the ground. Eolist was extracting a pen casing from the bullet hole in Roth's forehead.

Death spoke one more, "The next note is in that cave over there." He pointed a bony finger again. "I could die of boredom waiting for you to find it. I can't actually, that was just a figure of speech, but you know what I mean."

He added, "Please don't let me down. Or else."

What will our heroes find in the cave? What agency is powerful enough to have enlisted Death's help? Surely our heroes must be hungry again by now, so will they get to eat?

Wednesday, 13 June 2012

An Unfortunate Bullet in the Head

The story so far...

Your three heroes have been fed and are following a trail of notes left by a person as yet unknown, asking for help.

They have been on a bus ride driven by Death. They have sat in perfect darkness until they worked out it was an Imagination Powered Spaceship. They have traveled on a pretty good approximation of the Starship Enterprise to a red planet, whereupon they received a further message and beamed down to the surface.

It was here the story took a darker turn.

We rejoin our heroes on the surface of the planet. Indigo Roth has been shot.

"Max, I think they've shot him in the brain!", screamed Eolist.



At times of stress I have a tendency to say stupid things. I didn't fail this time, "Damn, they must have been extraordinarily good shots."

"You're a doctor, do something!"

"I'm a PhD in Fabrication & Lies. I have a Master's degree in Being Useless."

"That's simply great. I was hoping you might be able to save his life using the outer casing of a ball point pen or something."

"We could stick the outer casing in that hole in his head."

"Help me drag him somewhere safe."

At that point another shot rang out and Eolist collapsed across Roth. I had but a few seconds to assess the new situation before I heard another bang, felt the pain, light-show and then darkness.

Are all our heroes dead? Will we ever find out who the note is from? What were the other horsemen doing whilst Death drove the bus?